


Words On A Page

by murraysmistress



Category: Defiance (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-14
Updated: 2013-08-14
Packaged: 2017-12-23 10:55:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/925540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/murraysmistress/pseuds/murraysmistress





	Words On A Page

"I'll return for you."

The knife bit hard into the wood again and then fell in Kenya's slack hand to her side. Her eyes clenched. Opened. Drifted once more over the note and the six words she'd been left with.

_I'll return for you. Stay safe._

The words had been comforting... at first. _I'll return for you_ implied _wait for me._ _Stay safe_ implied _I care._

Oh, how she'd clung to those few precious words. She re-wrote them in the dirt, traced them on her skin, murmured them in her sleep. She memorized the clumsy, inhuman roman lettering, the way the letters dipped and ran in ways that no native's letters would. There had been one day during which she'd spent countless hours arranging and rearranging all those letters, convinced that they might be some sort of anagram. The most comfort she managed from that was the phrase "naturally yours," but even that left her with an extra ten letters. Plus one apostrophe. "So near yet so far" had given Kenya a few short moments of amusement before she broke into tears.

God, she missed home. She missed Amanda, Nolan, all of her girls at the NeedWant. She even missed her less enjoyable clients. Datak. She missed _Datak!_ Kenya loved her job because it satisfied two of her greatest needs: physical contact, and control. Didn't Stahma know what an awful thing she'd done, how directly she'd managed to contradict those two things that Kenya most needed?

 _Stahma._ She missed Stahma.  
  
The words didn't mean anything anymore. They just blurred together into a meaningless stream of ink beneath Kenya's eyes as she thought desperately, _"Define I'll, define return, define for, define..."_

She folded the note back into her coat pocket and allowed her gaze to drift to the branch in her left hand. Eighteen notches. Eighteen days. Eighteen days since she'd woken up parched and senseless with that damned note tucked between her thumb and forefinger. Eighteen days since she'd struggled to rise to her feet, then ambled about aimlessly before stumbling upon the first carefully drawn arrow on bleached white parchment tacked to a tree. Below it was a promise:

21 days.

And for the last eighteen days, she'd counted each sunset and followed those arrows like holy commandments, tearing down each one as she went.

Eighteen days.

Each day felt like a year. Kenya remembered them in short summaries:

Day one: Confusion. Relief. Started on Stahma's arrow path. Managed to find clean water.

Day two: Hatred. Resentment. Ate a strange rodent, some leaves that looked like the ones Amanda used to gather for dinner, and some red berries that made her body burn like the fires of hell. Passed out/slept on a rock.

Day three: Attempted Kastíthanu conversation with self. Wondered when madness would hit. Wondered if it already had hit. Considered turning around and going home. Decided that she'd rather not die by Datak's hand.

Day four-five: Another food-induced coma. Crossed thumb-sized golden forest fruits off the list of edible foods. Considered that the problem might have been the fungus on the fruit and not the fruit itself. Decided not to test theory.

Day six: Did not eat out of fear. Lost track of arrows. Panicked. Fell asleep before the sun had set and woke up before it had risen.

Day seven: Let go of any resentment towards Stahma. Fully embraced situation for the first time. Fought off a hellbug.

Day eight: Ate a hellbug.

Day nine: Lay naked in a tree and carved poetry into a dying branch. Decided that she was now entering a state of madness.

Day ten: Missed Amanda. Cried. A lot.

Day eleven: Sang simple hymns repeatedly and talked to the ground.  
  
Day twelve: Folded paper airplanes out of arrow parchment and searched for hidden messages in Stahma's notes.  
  
Day thirteen: Panicked because she couldn't remember what Irathients looked like. Thought about it excessively before deciding that they probably didn't exist.  
  
Day fourteen-sixteen: Camped out by a lake. Bathed. Taught self how to skip rocks. Missed Mom. Missed Amanda. Cried.  
  
Day seventeen: Missed Stahma. Cried.

Her eyes were dry now. Her mind was numb. With only three days left on the countdown, she grew nervous. She began to second guess her trust in Stahma. She began to fear that she'd somehow messed up her day count, that she'd lost track, that she'd arrive at the end of the trail too soon or too late and she'd be left to fend for herself.

She wondered if maybe she'd find Stahma, only to be kidnapped or poisoned moments later. Maybe she wouldn't wake up this time. She wondered what cruel smirk would pull at Stahma's lips as she watched what little light was left in Kenya's eyes fade. She wondered why the scenario held so much appeal.

When night fell, Kenya curled up under the jacket which had quickly come to serve as a makeshift blanket, counted to three on her fingers until sleep overtook her.

She dreamed of a warm smile and white lights and a hand brushing through her hair with the tenderness of a lover. _"Pretty little human."_

She woke exactly as she did on the first day: tired, aching, disoriented, lonely, and with the note still in her hand. With immense effort, she rolled onto her back and squinted up at the morning sky. _Twice,_ she thought. _I have to wake up like this twice. Twice. Two. Two more times._

She heard a bird caw-cawing, and she briefly considered answering it. She wondered if a bird would make good company.

The sky stared back at Kenya, and she wondered if Stahma ever woke this way. In her mind, she could see Stahma's lashes batting up and down into wakefulness. Her pale, slender fingers tapping against the bed, drumming once for each day. _One, two. One, two. One, two._ She imagined Datak frowning and asking what she was doing, and Stahma putting on that easy smile and turning to him, cupping his chin, pressing her lips to-

Kenya exhaled and shut her eyes. Her thick, dry tongue emitted a soft _pop_ as it parted with the roof of her mouth and ran the perimeter of her lips. "One," she breathed. "Two."

She gathered what few belongings she had with her and trudged on.

The third arrow she came across that day had something new on it. Below the usual arrow and promise of twenty one days was another small reassurance.

"Almost there."

Kenya kissed those words and traced them with one trembling finger, then untacked the sign and slipped it into her pocket with the others.

When evening fell, she settled herself under a large tree and cut another notch into her branch.

Nineteen.

On the twentieth day, she saw light and green grass through the trees. She fell to her knees, clinging to an arrowed tree with one word on the parchment:

"Here."

But the clearing, she found, was empty, so she cut a twentieth notch into her branch and fell asleep nestled in the sweetest grass she thought she would ever know.

And she woke...

In slow motion, feeling each heartbeat like a hesitant kiss: light, fluttering. Her eyelids were rusted, halting, and her vision was hazy at best. But once all of her senses fell into sync, she became aware of lips being pressed to a limp hand that was being held at a short length from her body, and saw Stahma's eyes meet hers and then avert themselves all too quickly.

"Stahma?"

Kenya wondered if perhaps she didn't say anything at all; for it seemed like ages before Stahma showed any acknowledgement, but she finally inhaled and whispered,

"Just a client?"

Guilt washed over Kenya as she remembered her own fixation on Stahma's note, on the six simple words: _I'll return for you. Stay safe._ Had "just a client" been the words on which Stahma fixated? Had she seen them behind her eyelids and sung them in her dreams? Had she counted the letters and arranged and rearranged them a thousand different ways?

Just a client? No. No. Not _just_ anything.

Kenya shook her head and closed her eyes. "No, Stahma. Never."

Stahma pressed another warm kiss to Kenya's hand, then released and slipped her own two hands under Kenya's body and lifted her carefully off the ground. "We're twenty minutes from a side road," Stahma murmured, wading through the long grass. "I have a roller waiting for us."

"What about Datak?"

"He passed away."

"Oh. I'm sure you had nothing to do with that." Silence. "Stahma? I'm sorry. About the client thing. If I made you think that you didn't... _mean_ anything to me-"

"Shhh. You're falling in love."

"Do you care?"

When Kenya opened her eyes and looked up, Stahma was smiling. _Smiling._ Smiling in a way far more genuine than Kenya had ever seen, and that smile alone was enough to make the corners of Kenya's own lips curl upwards.  
  
"No, I don't."


End file.
